Burnt Out
by amortentsarah
Summary: Loras knew something was wrong even before the screaming started...


Loras knew something was wrong before the screams even started. He knew it straight down in his soul that something was very, very wrong. He turned, his eyes gliding over to the tent he'd left earlier. Dangerous, black waves of dread washed over him like a storming ocean did over rocks in a storm. Unlike the rocks, however, which withstood the onslaught, the knight nearly buckled over from the weight of it as he tried to move his legs to run.

That's when the screaming started.

All he knew was the blur of grass beneath his feet and the panic in his heart. He didn't care about anything else and ignored the questioning calls of the soldiers around him. The only thing that mattered right now was that he needed to know his king was safe. That Renly was safe. One of the screams had stopped and he pushed his way through the guards on their way to the tent. Their yells of protest meant nothing to him. Nothing ever meant anything to him, save for one man. The flap of the tent was left partially open and he ducked inside, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to face anything—ready to defend his king as he promised he always would.

That moment never came.

Bodies were hewn on the floor; three were on Renly's guard, but the fourth…No. The knight stumbled, feeling dizzy and sick, as he made his way over to his king's body. He knew without even having to check that he was gone. The light burning within him diminished as his eyes grazed over this last body, a clean cut in his armor over his heart was the answer he was looking for.

"Ser Loras." The guards had caught up to him now, watching him as they surveyed the scene before them. He didn't think, just acted on his blind rage. There was no vision until the guards fell at his hand finally, making the body count seven. Sword dripping and lungs heaving, he collapsed to his knees beside the love of his life and let himself break. He didn't care about being whole. There was no point in trying anymore. A shaking hand reached out to trail over the armor and then the other cupped Renly's face.

"My king…" He spoke finally for the first time, but his voice broke into a million pieces as the tears fell from his cheeks to spread the blood around on the metal. How many times had he touched him like this? How many times had he woke him up like this and Renly opened his eyes and smiled at him? He begged him to do it now. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend. "Renly." He said again. He pleaded. Over and over again.

Nothing happened.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what death was. He was a knight, it was his job to understand, but it was always easier when it was someone else. It was easier when it wasn't your heart—easier when you weren't the one experiencing the crushing, suffocating darkness that enveloped him as it did then. He was alone now. Isolated and broken, and he always would be. More voices were coming closer and his heart rate picked up, ready to strike again at whoever dared interrupt him. Yet what was he to do? Kill the whole army single handedly so he could stay here and cry? These men were loyal to him and loyal to Renly. He couldn't. Again, he knew that.

Leaning over his love's body, he pressed a kiss to his lips. A kiss Renly should have gotten earlier, had Loras not been such a stubborn and jealous fool. He never should have rejected him and left. He never should have done any of it. He should have stayed and made love to his king. Protecting him was always his one promise. Protecting and loving him. Yet he'd broken the most important one.

The lips were still warm, but they were still and he could feel the life draining away from them. "Please," He murmured against them, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed them to respond to the pressure.

They didn't.

Just as Loras pulled away, the guards came in and he made an effort to put his sword back into its sheath, rather than use it against them. They pulled him away from Renly's body—not very easily—as they yelled about tending to "the" king.

_Not _the _king, _my_ king._ Loras thought bitterly as they dragged him away. He fought, screaming at them to let him stay—that he needed to stay. They didn't listen, too caught up in the death that plagued the beautiful tent. They didn't understand. None of them did. They didn't know…they couldn't know. That was part of the deal. So he was escorted away from a last glance at his king's dead body without even the chance to remind him of something he should have said earlier to a living, breathing Renly.

That he loved him. And that he was sorry.


End file.
